Sermon Proper 28B
(Ingathering Sunday)
November 15, 2015
Last week
in our gospel we heard the story of the “Widow’s Mite.” We were led to
contemplate how the Church might actually represent the widow in the
story—giving our all to God all for nothing but the sake of Christ—in other
words, for the greatest free thing in all the world: love.
This week
we hear stories about worship in our readings. The story of Hannah is centered
around the shrine at Shiloh that contained the Ark of the Covenant. And our
gospel reading from Mark continues the discussion Jesus and his disciples are
having about the Temple. Yet I think love is woven into this, as well, since
worship is all about love- love for God, and love for each other.
Places of
worship come and go, but the ways we worship God are more important. Shiloh was
an important place of worship—until it was overrun and looted. Then the First Temple
was built at Jerusalem by Solomon. That Temple, in turn, was destroyed, and it
was only after a long exile that a new Temple replaced it. That second Temple
was then further expanded by King Herod, whose family governed Israel as
puppets and collaborators under the Roman Empire during the life of Jesus.
Our gospel
story depicts Jesus and his disciples discussing the Temple that Herod had
expanded. Allegedly, it was an amazing sight, with marble columns and pavements,
and it was so massive that its walls were sixteen feet thick in places. And
some of those stones that the disciples remarked about weighed over 100 tons
EACH. All of this magnificence was paid for by taxes that Herod and the
religious authorities levied upon the people, whether wealthy patrons or poor
widows.
This Temple
may have been declared to be the center of the worship of God, but the guy
whose name was all over it was HEROD’S, and it was a monument to Herod’s claims
to power and legitimacy as a ruler. The problem of the Temple for Jesus is that
it was NOT dedicated to the humble work of love, the work of building up the
community, the work of worshiping God.
In our
first reading, Hannah’s entire household—including her husband’s other wife and
children-- are on pilgrimage at Shiloh, yet Hannah was restless and troubled. Although
beloved by her husband, she is childless. Her husband doesn’t seem to understand
the depths of Hannah’s pain—possibly because he has children with his other
wife. Yet Hannah knows that if, God forbid, something were to happen to her
husband, she would be absolutely destitute-- just like that poor widow in last
week’s gospel.
Hannah gets
up from the family feast to go and pray alone before the Ark, observed by Eli,
the priest. Humbly but fervently, she begs God for a son, even promising to
give that child back to God’s service as soon as he is weaned. She begins
praying so hard yet so silently that Eli thinks she’s drunk. After defending
herself, Eli bids her go in peace. But something shifted during that prayer.
Hannah is “remembered” by God, and blessed with a son, who was named Samuel,
meaning “God hears me.” Hannah will give birth to that son, only to give him to
Eli, to grow up in the sanctuary at Shiloh, and serve God as a prophet and
judge of Israel.
Hannah
eventually sings a great song of victory after the birth of her son, which will
be very similar to another song of victory sung by a young woman named Mary,
inspired by her own impending motherhood. I want to mention it so that we
understand that Hannah worshiped and praised God as much as she railed at God. Hannah
had first approached God with angry pleadings, but eventually she sings a great
song of power and rejoicing. Hannah’s marginalized status was overturned
through her very great faith. In a few
weeks, Mary will also sing about the greatness of God and all God’s works in
overturning the hierarchies of power, to bring restoration of God’s design for
peace and justice. Hannah and Mary are linked: they each have a son, and they
raise him and love him only to give him away to serve God. They give all they
have out of love. Just like the widow in last week’s gospel.
Our sermon
last week closed with imagining that the widow had gone home from the Temple,
not to impending starvation, but to the loving care of others—perhaps someone
who witnessed her act pressed some money into her hands, perhaps she had her own
loving daughter-in-law to help her, as Naomi had Ruth. Perhaps she had
neighbors who would check on her and take care of her. I love that image. That
love and care we show for others IS true worship. It’s true discipleship—one
that’s not dependent on buildings but on hearts on fire with the love of God.
I
particularly thought of that image during the last few days, as we heard of
atrocities in Lui, in Syria, in Baghdad, and in Beirut. On Friday, the terrible
attacks all across Paris killed at least 120 persons, and wounded nearly 400
more.
It seems
overwhelming. Yet even in the midst of carnage, there were also beautiful
stories of good people opening their homes to people displaced by these
tragedies; of people airdropping food and supplies to refugees in one place and
plucking them from the ocean in others; of people growing and giving away a ton
of food even when the weather doesn’t cooperate. All of these actions are holy.
All of these actions remind us of the best in us that was planted by God in
creation.
Sacrifice
doesn’t just mean to give up something—sacrifice means to make something holy. What
makes a place holy isn’t its grandeur. What makes a place holy is how it brings
us closer to God. The story of Hannah reminds us of that. It reminds us that
worship is much more about how our hearts are oriented than being in the midst
of resplendent surroundings. Similarly, what makes a people holy isn’t their
numbers. What makes a people holy is their dedication to serve and worship God.
And that’s
an important message to hear, as we keep being told that Christianity as we
know it, and the Episcopal Church as we know it, is in decline. We are a small
church. But, if our hearts are filled with worship and wonder at what God has
done for us, we can still do great things, if our souls proclaim the greatness
of the Lord, and our spirits rejoice in God our Savior, who looks with favor on
his lowly servants.
Yet I’m
reminded of a beautiful point that Pamela made last week. She said, “Being a
member of a church, and giving generously of your time, talent, and treasure,
is NOT going to impress people today.” But she reminded us that this is
actually good news. Here’s what she said: “If we Christians can embrace our
marginalized place in society and stop chasing respectability and status, we
will be that much closer to the life of faith that Jesus modeled and wants us
to emulate.”
This
reminded me of one of my favorite poems, by e. e. cummings (I told you all I
was an English major, yes?). This poem
reminded me of the holiness to be found in humility, the kind of humility and
steadfast love we see in Hannah, and Mary, and countless others like you and me
right here at Good Shepherd who seek to give God our all.
Here’s what
e e cummings wrote:
i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying
cities
-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
my life is the life of the reaper and the
sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily
striving
(finding and losing and laughing and
crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my
gladness
around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of
mountains
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace
with nature
-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His
presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
I thought of that poem, and I thought—that’s us!
This is a church
attuned to the life of the sower and the reaper.
This is a church that has
known birth and glory and death and resurrection.
We’ve even got the
“diminutive spire.”
This is a holy place, and we are holy people. Let us be gathered
together, to proclaim with our time, our prayers, our talent, and our treasure,
to do great things in love, sacrifice, and humility.
Amen.
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